


B is for Beer

by chileancarmenere



Series: Alistair Alphabet [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:19:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chileancarmenere/pseuds/chileancarmenere





	B is for Beer

He’s seventeen, all gawky, awkward limbs, cheeks still padded with baby fat, when the three other guys in his room decide that they want to hit Denerim for a night.

He decidedly does _not_.

The four of them were sent to the Denerim Chantry for a month, to learn some specialized templar techniques from an old templar there. Their days have been slow and sluggish, because the techniques have nothing to do with beating things up with swords but rather learning how to fight with their minds, and as seventeen-year-old boys, that’s the last thing they want to do. After three weeks spent sitting and meditating, pretending to think about spell-neutralizing mental techniques, they’re all bored and itching to go thrash something.

Even so, when Davy says that he’s heard of a suitably sketchy place, tucked away on an alley near Wonders of Thedas, Alistair immediately starts trying to think of an excuse that doesn’t involve “drinking is a sin, and so is whoring, which I’m pretty sure is on your mind right now.”

He can’t think of one.

Which means that he has to go, or else he’s going to lose face.

They stuff pillows under the covers, making it look to any casual passersby like they are still in their beds, put on their best clothes (which, unfortunately, are not much. Modesty is a virtue in the Chantry) and sneak out of the old wooden building through the windows. Davy, who used to be a child thief before he was turned over to the Chantry by the night watchmen, leads the way through Denerim, silent as a ghost. Alistair’s heart is thumping hard in his throat. He can feel it knocking against his Adam’s apple. He’s terrified, and ashamed of being so scared.

 _It’s just a tavern. You’ll go in, have one beer, act suave, and go home early._

Inside is smoky, dark and thrilling. Oh, it’s thrilling. The servers are women, ample-formed in tantalizingly low-cut dresses, wending their way through patrons, balancing fully loaded trays on splayed fingers. The smell of alcohol and pipe tobacco is heavy in the air, and Alistair thinks he’s choking on it. Davy sits them down at a table, wide-eyed with wonder, and orders four beers.

The liquid is cool, bubbly and unlike anything he’s ever tasted before. He chokes on the first mouthful, and eager to prove that he _can_ drink beer, swallows the rest of it hastily. It hits him _hard_. Before long, he’s giggling and hazy, the bar bending in fantastic shapes around him. Davy has his face in his hands, but Alistair doesn’t care, because he’s _fine_. He’s doing _great_. This is the best day of his life.

“Hello, sweet thing.” A dark-haired beauty materializes in front of him, pinches his cheek. “Oh, aren’t you cute.”

A second face joins hers, hovering over him. He squints to try and focus in. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gena, he’s got the face of a god.” She brazenly plops down on his lap, and suddenly he has no idea what to do with his hands. “Oh, Maker.”

“What’s that you say, honey?” She leans her cheek towards his lips and the scent of her perfume is overwhelming, so very feminine and _sexy_. He is a sinner. He will be on his knees singing the Chant from now till he’s twenty. Oh shit.

“Oh Maker,” he gasps again, and bends almost double, pushing her out of his lap, and throws up on the floor.


End file.
